Spies Never Die: Bond vs Blonde
by Smileyfax
Summary: In the first new chapter of a comedic espionage series, James Bond is tasked with preventing his successor from destroying MI-6 -- the man is just too good at what he does. How will Bond fight a man better than him in every way? Finished!
1. Chapter 1

London, six years ago...

XXXX

"Damnit, 007, you can't quit!" M protested.

M was chastising her number one spy, James Bond, in her office in MI-6 headquarters, London, England.

Bond shook his head. "M, I'm sorry, but this is something I have to do. I have to follow my dreams, no matter what I must sacrifice along the way."

"Bond, your dreams are infantile and stupid. You already have one of the coolest jobs in the world -- international spy! Hell, remember that time you went to space?"

A faraway look appeared in Bond's eye. "That was a long time ago, M. A long time indeed. And while space was pretty awesome, it didn't have any cattle."

"Cattle?" M asked, puzzled. "What the bloody hell does cattle have to do with anything?"

Bond put his hands on M's shoulders. "M...it's always been my dream to be a cattle rancher."

"...Since fucking when?"

"Well, I saw a really cool cowboy movie on AMC last night, and now I want to run off to Montana and be a cattle farmer."

M rubbed the bridge of her nose. "You know what? Fine. Fuck it. Get the hell out of here, Bond, and don't you come back."

XXXX

Montana, today...

XXXX

James nervously held the authentic twenty-gallon cowboy hat he had won from the State Fair in his hands as the veterinarian examined the young calf.

"Well, Jimmy, I can't rightly say what's wrong with this young heifer...what do you feed it?" Dr. Yes asked.

"Uh...feed it?"

The vet stared hard at James. "...Please tell me you feed your cattle."

"I thought they just ate grass and shit."

"Jesus fucking wept," the vet said. "Come here, let me show you something." He took James by the arm and dragged him out of the barn.

"Look at that. Tell me what you see."

"Uh...the rugged west?"

"DESERT! THIS IS A FUCKING DESERT! THERE AREN'T ANY FIELDS FOR YOUR CATTLE TO GRAZE ON!"

"Um. Is this important? Should I write it down?"

"How the HELL did you keep cattle for six years and NOT KNOW THIS?"

James shrugged. "Whenever they all died, I just burned their bodies and bought new cows."

Yes' forehead began throbbing -- it seemed a vein was getting ready to burst. "Burned their -- BOUGHT NEW COWS?" The vet retreated back into the barn, coming back out after a few minutes with the young calf hoisted over his shoulders. Panting, he made his way to his pickup truck and gently sat the calf in the back. He turned back to James. "Listen the fuck up, Bond. If I ever hear that you've gone within 100 feet of a cow ever again, I will concoct an elaborate plan to destroy you." The vet got into the pickup and roared out of James' farm, the calf bleating in terror all the while.

"He...he took her...he took Bess the 13th!" James began sobbing uncontrollably.

XXXX

That night, James sat on the couch, several empty pint-sized containers of ice cream and wadded-up tissues littering the floor around him, another half-empty (and getting emptier every spoonful) pint sat in his lap. He was watching Cowpokes of Cattle Country, a true classic in which the hero managed to gun down enough Indians and Mexicans to save the cattle ranch supporting his family.

As the credits began to roll, James' eyes widened in revelation. "Of COURSE! I should have seen it all along! Dr. Yes is a cattle rustler!" He pulled out his six-shooter. "I have to go get that dirty varmint!"

Before he could leave the house, though, the phone began to ring. He picked it up. "Tarnation, this is James Bond, the meanest cowboy who ever lived! What the hell do you want?"

"Bond, it's M. We have to talk."

"Tarnation, M, I'm all riled up and I have to go shoot some varmint who done rustled my cattle!"

M's sigh was audible through the earpiece. "Are you drunk, Bond, or did one of your cows kick you in the head?"

James' tough exterior cracked, and he began sobbing again. "The veterinarian took my last cow, M. I'm so lonely."

"...James, a helicopter will be there in ten minutes. We need to talk."

"Will there be ice cream? Mint chocolate chip's my favorite."

"...Yeah, fine. There'll be ice cream. Just get on the damn helicopter."

XXXX

The helicopter had taken him to a nondescript office building in Helena, where a pint of mint chocolate chip was waiting for him. A man met him on the helipad, shouting "FOLLOW ME!" above the sound of the rotors.

"ICE CREAM?" James asked.

"FOLLOW ME!" the man repeated, turning before the idiot could go on.

He left James to wait in an empty conference room -- no ice cream in sight. Finally, after nearly ten minutes, M came into the room.

"M, you promised there'd be ice cream!" he shouted upon seeing her.

"Too bad, I lied." She clicked a remote control, causing a projector mounted to the ceiling to turn on and begin projecting against the far wall.

The first picture showed a ruggedly handsome blonde man in a tuxedo. "This is your replacement, James Bond."

"What's his name?"

"James Bond."

"Yes, I know my name, but what's his name?"

"James Bond!" M insisted.

James shook his head. "M, it's clearly not James Bond. I'm the only James Bond who ever existed."

"...Yes, of course you were." M avoided looking directly at James.

"...M, you lied about the ice cream. Are you lying about this, too?"

"Look, James, every time a James Bond is killed in action, we just get a new guy and slap the name 'James Bond' on him. This never came up before since all the previous Bonds had the good sense to never retire."

"And so what, you're here to show me how this guy is so much better than me?" James asked, pouting.

"Yes, actually!" M said with a big smile.

And so for the next hour, James quietly wept as M showed the blonde Bond's successes: shutting down terror cells in fourteen countries, averting ninety-two nuclear incidents, and capturing Osama Bin Laden.

"To be quite frank, James, the man's nearly eradicated terrorism altogether. And that's the problem."

"Huh?" James asked intelligently.

"MI-6 is almost out of business! I'm only qualified to run intelligence agencies! Do you think an old woman like me can get any other job in this economy?"

"Well, I hear people on the Internet are really kinky these days..." James began.

"No, James. I want you to come back to MI-6."

"Cool! So me and this other Bond can team up?"

M stared at Bond for a moment, then slowly shook her head. "No, James. You are to kill him. There can be only one James Bond, and it must be you."

XXXXXXXXXX

Welcome to the reboot of a classic fic series that a handful of people read! The JB Series (as it was called back then) was a fast-paced comedic farce which lampooned James Bond and a wide variety of other media. My friend Kail and I worked on fics in the series for years, but eventually our interest waned.

But then, one day, my interest de-waned! And so I decided to reboot the series. We meticulously planned out the last series in excruciating detail, and I'm already casting my mind forward to what the second story (not chapter!) will have in store for our intrepid spy. 


	2. Chapter 2

James admired himself in the mirror. He hadn't worn the tuxedo in years, and he still looked damn good. Not as good as he did in his twenty-gallon hat and awesome rugged facial hair, but M had taken his hat and forced him to shave. The mean old biddy.

James left the tiny restroom of the private jet just as the pilot announced they were coming in over London. He gazed upon the city he called home for most of his professional life with a sense of longing and giddy excitement. He was coming back to the world where he could legally kill people again!

"Okay, Bond, 007 is in Ireland for the day, murdering the last of the IRA with his bare hands. He'll be back this evening, and that's when you'll be able to strike."

"Do I shoot him in the face?" Bond asked.

A look of horror flowered on M's face. "Hell no! Don't you think we would have done that already if it were that simple? This man is an unstoppable killing machine. He eats terrorists and shits out dead terrorists. Robinson tried to kill him with a pillow in his sleep, but he broke every bone in Robinson's arm! Even the really tiny ones!"

"...So, what the hell am I supposed to do, then?"

"Slow him down. You'll buy us enough time to evacuate London; after he's finished rendering you down to your constituent atoms, we'll set off a small nuclear bomb, which should kill him if he's anywhere within ten miles of it."

James' eyes widened to the size of saucers. "This is a suicide mission? Damnit, M, it takes me a while to survive those without a scratch. Four, five days maybe."

M closed her eyes and shook her head. "This isn't like any other man you've fought, James. He really is that good." A tear escaped her eyelids and rolled down her cheek. "I'm sorry."

XXXX

James cautiously peeked around the corner before proceeding down the hallway. M strode past him. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Bond, I told you he won't even be here for hours yet. Stop being such a damn baby."

They reached M's waiting room. "M, you have three message...James!" Moneypenny cried excitedly. "Use some of your suggestive innuendo on me!"

"Uh...that's what she said?" he replied, not having time to come up with something more clever.

She embraced the former spy, sobbing. "Oh, James, you have no idea how long I've gone without having somebody hit on me. The new 007 is a limp-dick or something -- he NEVER hits on me!"

"Well, that might have something to do with how the only woman he ever loved died in his arms after betraying him," M pointed out.

"Oh pooh, James has had a bunch of women die on him, including his wife. He never stopped hitting on me then."

M rolled her eyes and walked past Moneypenny, stopping at the doorway of her office. "Do stop by to see Q, Bond. Get what you can from him," she said cryptically.

"What I can?" James asked Moneypenny.

"I'm not the only thing he doesn't use anymore," Moneypenny answered even more cryptically.

XXXX

James found the door to Q Branch was standing ajar, darkness consuming the inside. Nervously, he pushed it open. The door creaked loudly, like it was a mansion filled with Draculas or something. James started to sweat in fear. He walked inside, and shrieked like a little girl as the door suddenly slammed shut behind him. "We have a Dracula situation! I repeat, we have a Dracula situation!" he shouted into his cufflink microphone. Oh wait, he didn't HAVE a cufflink microphone yet. That's why he was there.

Now that he was inside, he could see that the room was lit sporadically with dark yellow candles. Upon closer inspection, he made a disgusted face -- they were earwax candles.

Cobwebs covered every surface. Computers which once calculated data about how to pack as much explosives as possible into a deck of playing cards had a nest of mice chewing their way through the metal casing.

Bond finally remembered the penlight on his keychain. He fished it out and turned it on, shining it all over the room. It settled on a corpse, standing upright, hands folded over its chest. As James watched in horror, the corpse opened its eyes, and let out an inarticulate roar.

"DRACULAAAAAA!" James shouted at the top of his lungs, losing control of his bladder.

"Oh, shut up, 007," Q muttered after finishing the yawn. "Wait, you're not 007! You're the last 007! What the hell are you doing here?" As Q stretched from his slumber, he flicked on the lights, sending the mice scurrying.

"M recruited me to kill the new 007, but I guess it's a suicide mission or someething, since nobody has any confidence in me." James pouted.

"Oh, don't worry, old chap. I'm sure you'll beat up what's-his-face." Q had his fingers crossed behind his back. "Truthfully, I only ever met the new lad once. He looked at all my gadgets, called them trash, and walked out. My funding was cut down next to nothing the next day." Q sighed. "I don't expect you'll have an easy go of it, but you can have whatever I can dredge up from the ruins around here. Exploding pens, laser watches, the works."

"Thanks, Q, I really appreciate it," Bond smiled.

"James!" Moneypenny burst into Q Branch. "Terrible news! The new Bond's arrived back early!"

"He's here?" Bond gulped.

"Well, Bond, it's been nice knowing you," Q patted Bond on the back.

XXXX

"So, M, where's the next terror cell located? I'm pretty sure I've eradicated every cell in Europe. Asia, perhaps? Maybe I can take care of Red China while I'm there."

"Oh, that won't be necessary, 007. Why don't you take a vacation?" M asked, a fake smile on her face.

"Nonsense. Once all the bitches are dead, maybe I'll take a vacation then. So, Asia, then?"

The door to M's office flew open. "I don't think so, you cad!" James shouted. (The good guy James).

The new Bond turned to his predecessor with a smirk. "Who are you supposed to be?"

M looked nervously between the two Bonds, then stood up and rushed to the elder Bond's side. "James, this is my lover, James...Bund." She began licking the length of "Bund's" face. "Bund" began retching.

"M, I don't think your husband will like that very much," the young Bond commented.

"You're married?" the old Bond asked. "...Irrelevant! I am NOT her lover! I am, in fact, the REAL James Bond!"

The young upstart Bond chuckled. "Really? Let me guess, M, you pulled the last Bond out of retirement to serve as a distraction while you set off that little firecracker downstairs -- which I already defused."

M's mouth fell open in shock.

"Very well, then. Okay, used-to-be-Bond, scratch my balls."

"...Excuse me?" The elder Bond asked.

"Scratch. My. Balls." Blonde Bond spread his legs to emphasize.

"Uh...okay," James finally acquiesced, approaching his successor, shoving his hand down the man's pants.

"What the HELL are you doing?" Bond shoved Bond off of him.

"You...asked me to scratch your balls."

"I didn't mean for you to SCRATCH MY BALLS!" he shouted. "I wanted you to KICK MY BALLS!"

James scratched his head. "Then why didn't you just say 'Kick me in the balls'?"

The replacement Bond scowled and turned to M. "I'm off to Asia. Let me know when you find a challenger who isn't a simpering moron." He stormed out of the room.

"I am NOT a simpering moron!" James called after him.

M sat down and poured herself a glass of bourbon. "Well, it looks like our plans have failed," she lamented.

"Our plans, yeah."

"Cut that cheek, Bond," she ordered. "There isn't anything else we can do..." A thoughtful look appeared on her face.

"What? Do you have an idea?"

M rummaged through her desk. She tossed four manila folders down in front of James. "You won't be able to defeat 007 alone, James. These people have unique traits and skillsets which should hopefully help you defeat them."

James briefly thumbed through the documents. "Hmm. Seems like a motley crew."

"Not a crew, James," she corrected him. "A Krew." 


	3. Chapter 3

James wrinkled his nose as he stepped into the pub -- a dive, more like it; he had never found a worse hive of scum and villainy before. The smell of cheap liquor and vomit assaulted his nose (though they were both interchangable).

He double-checked the file he had on John Kail. A former 00 agent, like himself, he had been laid off of MI-6, another casualty of the new Bond's wrath. He had been in Sydney, Australia at the time, and spent his days drinking himself into a stupor.

James moved among the pub's patrons, looking among the depressed faces for Kail's. He finally found him at the bar, surrounded by bottles and peanut shells.

"NO! GOD DAMNIT!" he shouted at the TV. Bond glanced at the screen; it was a dog show. "COME ON! THE POODLE IS MUCH PRETTIER THAN THAT FUCKING SHAR PEI!" Kail threw a bottle at the TV, managing to hit the bartender and strike him unconscious. Several of the more lucid barflies immediately hopped the counter and began raiding the stores of alcohol.

"I think you've had enough, mate," the bouncer announced, hoisting Kail up by his shirt.

"I'll...I'll tell you when I've had enough!" Kail cried, seizing another bottle from the bar. He smashed it against the hard wood and shoved it into the bouncer's face; if it had actually been a glass bottle, instead of somebody's plastic water bottle, it might have made a difference.

Bond followed the bouncer outside, where he threw Kail roughly to the ground. "And don't come back, you miserable wanker!" the bouncer declared.

"Exactly how much has he had to drink?" Bond asked the man.

"Today? Ten root beers. That's all the blighter ever drinks." The bouncer went back inside, since nobody wants to read about the damn bouncer in a tale of high espionage such as this.

Bond crouched down and shook Kail. "John Kail?"

"It's been a really shitty year, you know?" Kail moped. "First I couldn't prevent ninjas assassinating David Carradine. Then Michael Jackson and Billy Mays died. And then I got laid off!"

"So you're John Kail."

"Who the hell wants to know?" Kail moaned in agony.

"James Bond."

"YOU!" Kail immediately leapt back to his feet and wrapped his hands around James' neck. "...Hey, you're not 007," Kail realized after a moment.

"...agh...kak..."

"Oh! Sorry!" Kail released his grip on James' throat.

"I used to be, actually. I was the Bond before the current one. We actually worked together once -- the Brotherhood of Nod operation?"

Kail nodded. "That's right. We worked good together back then. I heard you got too afraid of the job, though -- ran off to fuck some cows or something."

"WHO TOLD YOU -- er, no. I was never afraid of spying! I just had to follow my true calling, that of cattle rancher!"

"And how did that work out for you?"

"...Shut up, that's how."

Kail brushed a bit of dirt from his outfit. "Well, unless you're here to help me get revenge on 007 in a world-spanning adventure, I have a bottle of root beer to crawl into and die."

"As a matter of fact..." Bond grinned.

"...Okay, I'm all ears. How is that old cunt M, by the way?"

XXXX

Bond and Kail walked into the gay bar. The owner of the bar lay on the floor, and it was obvious he had died very painfully. "It's hard catching up with this Remington Smiley character," Kail said. "His reputation as the world's greatest assassin is well-deserved."

"That exposition was pretty poorly shoehorned-in," Bond griped.

"Well, blame Smiley. This is his fic, after all."

"But...but I get top billing!" Bond began to cry.

"There there, James," Kail patted Bond's back.

The two former agents turned their attention back to the crime scene. "Who would kill the innocent owner of a gay bar?" Bond wondered aloud.

Suddenly, the power was cut, plunging the room into darkness and cutting the Village People off after Y-M. "I WOULD!" a scary robo-voice shouted.

"DRACULAAAAA!" Bond screamed, venting his bladder and bowels into his pants.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" Kail demanded.

"It is I, Remington Smiley...the world's greatest assassin...and the last thing you shall hear!" The voice was again eerily robo-like.

"ROBO-DRACULAAAAA!" Bond screamed, hurriedly eating a large meal so he could mess himself again.

"...I'm not robo-Dracula, you fool. Now, DIE!" Gunfire erupted from the darkness. Bond and Kail threw themselves to the ground, barely avoiding catching a bullet or ten.

"Why do you want to kill us?" Kail begged.

"Because of your hated legs!"

"...Our legs? What does that have to do with anything?"

"What does that have to DO with anything? Look! JUST LOOK!"

The lights came on, and Bond and Kail realized the horrible truth.

Remington Smiley, the world's greatest assassin, was a wheelchair-bound quadriplegic.

Bond and Kail burst into great guffaws of laughter.

"Stop laughing...stop laughing!" Smiley urged through his robo-voice-machine thing.

"And here I thought you were a plain old Robo-Dracula!" Bond said with a smile. "Anwyay, chill the hell out, Remington. We have a business proposition for you."

"...I'm listening. And call me Smiley."

XXXX

"Pussy Junior and Irennie Galore. Two of the biggest success stories of the 21st century. Your mother gave birth to you just before going to prison for the rest of her life, for her part in the so-called 'Operation Grand Slam'. You had to fight for everything you have today: A degree in molecular biology for Pussy, a degree in psychology for Irennie; black belts in several martial art disciplines between you; and now, this new 'Cuddly Animals' addition to the zoo. Is there anything you girls haven't achieved, that you really want?" Bryant Gumbel asked in an interview broadcast on live TV.

"We want to fuck a guy who won't die afterward," Pussy answered.

"Yeah, all the fags we've met just can't handle a good fucking," Irennie added.

"Uh...Back to you, Willard."

Bryant was desperately making a 'cut' motion to the cameraman over and over.

"What? Was it something we said?"

XXXX

"More tea, Mr. Bear?" Pussy asked the stuffed bear to her left. "Be careful, it's piping hot!" she cautioned.

"Miss Frog, why do you think Mr. Gumbel cut his interview with us off early?" Irennie asked the stuffed frog to her left. "Also, when will you and Mr. Bear stop living in sin and get married?"

The stuffed animals had no reply for the Galore sisters.

There was a knock at the door of their deluxe penthouse apartment. "Oh! Another guest for our tea party!" Pussy exclaimed excitedly. She and Irennie leaped up and rushed to the door.

"Hello, Ms. and Ms. Galore? I'm --" Bond was cut off in mid-sentence as he and Kail were yanked bodily into the apartment. Smiley rolled in after them, a helper monkey perched on his shoulder.

"You're just in time for some tea!" Pussy declared, sitting Bond down next to Mr. Bear. Irennie sat Kail down in her own seat, then made herself comfortable in his lap. Smiley took a position next to Miss Frog.

"Bluh," Kail bluh'd.

"Would you like some lemon in your tea, Mr...?"

"Bond, James Bond. I take my tea shaken, not stirred."

"Very well!" Pussy took the teapot and shook it vigorously. Hot tea flew out and splashed directly onto James' lap.

"JESUS FUCK MY BALLS!" Bond shouted, running screaming for the bathroom.

"How rude of him," Pussy scoffed. "How do you take your tea, Mr...?"

"Call me Smiley," Smiley robot'd. "I enjoy honey in my tea."

"Honey it is! Oh, and your monkey is sooo adorable!"

"Thank you. His name is Dr. Zaius. I've been trying to train him to murder people, so that he may bring civilization to the apes, which would bring about a glorious new world order, of which I would be their god."

"Neat! Enjoy your tea!"

Smiley eyed the teacup in front of him. "How the fuck am I supposed to drink this? I'm paralyzed from the neck down."

Dr. Zaius scampered down, seized the teacup, and threw its contents on Smiley's balls.

"Ha ha, joke's on you, Dr. Zaius. I can't feel it."

The monkey screeched, ran up to Smiley's shoulder, and bit deep into his ear.

"JESUS FUCK MY EAR!" Smiley's wheelchair began going around and around in rapid circles.

"So, we were wondering if you girls..." Kail began.

"Never on the first date!" Irennie scolded. "Unless you say please," she added with a wink.

"No, see, we need your help in killing this guy..."

"WE'RE IN!" Pussy and Irennie shouted simultaneously.

"You...don't want to hear WHY we want to kill him?"

Pussy rolled her eyes. "Uh, no? Why would we need a reason to kill a guy?"

"Touche." 


	4. Chapter 4

"Okay, class, it's time to begin the lesson," M announced. Bond, Kail, Smiley, and the Galore sisters -- collectively known as the Krew -- settled down from their general ruckus-making and focused their attention on M.

"Welcome to Killing 007 101."

"Wait, we have to kill 007101?" James asked. "But...but he's cool. He gave me free balloons."

M could feel a headache coming on. "...007, Bond, not 007101. We had to let 007101 go due to the budget cuts, anyway." She indicated to a timeline she had jotted down on the chalkboard. "Now, 007 gained his 00 status shortly after the present Bond...retired." She looked disdainfully at James. "He killed some jerk who was selling secrets to Iceland and his accomplice. His next assignment was gaining intel on a bomb threat, which --"

"You know, M, this is interesting and all, but everyone here has seen Casino Royale," Smiley interjected.

A tear rolled down M's cheek. "But I worked on my presentation all night!"

"Too bad. Get to the killin' part."

"Oh fine, you mean cripple." M pulled down a screen and activated the roof-mounted projector. The first slide was a picture of Vesper Lynd. "The only known thing to have hurt 007 was falling in love. While one of you may attempt to seduce him, it's unlikely he'll fall in love ever again -- indeed, his interest in women seems to be at a record low for any Bond."

"Not interested in women, eh?" Bond thought out loud. "Hmm...we'll have to remember that."

"He has no other apparent weaknesses, physical or mental. Ball torture didn't phase him; he seemed to enjoy it, in fact."

"Really!" Bond said excitedly. "He's sounding more and more interesting."

Everybody in the room gazed at Bond, a little revolted.

"One advantage we have is that 007 is reluctant to use any sort of gadget." At this the Galore sisters let out a high-pitched giggle. "Even when his heart was about to stop beating, he refused to use an EKG to restart it. Yes?" She pointed to Kail, who had raised his hand.

"M, an EKG is just used to measure heart activity."

"Oh really, wise guy? Well then, what's the device used to shock the heart back?"

"Uh..." Kail was at a loss.

"HA! Detention for YOU, you petulant bastard!"

"I wasn't being --"

"SILENCE! Class is dismissed, except for Mr. Kail."

Everybody else filtered out of the conference room, except Kail. "Okay, what's my detention? Do I have to clap out some dirty erasers or something?"

"Yes, you have to clap out my dirty erasers," M purred seductively, unbuttoning her blouse.

Kail's screams of horror were blocked out by his own vomit.

XXXX

The Krew assembled in Q Branch, where Q had dusted off some of the cobwebs and set up a plasma-screen monitor.

"Now, then, thanks to some help from the CIA, who have just as much to lose as us if 007 kills all the terrorists in the world, we've managed to set up a global tracking system for every known terrorist alive." The monitor display showed a map of the Earth, with red dots sprinkled about the surface. "These red dots, of course, are the terrorist cells still active." As Q spoke, one of the dots flickered and vanished. "Ah, and as you can see, the active Bond is keeping himself quite busy."

"What's the purpose of this, Q?" Bond asked, looking around the neglected laboratory for something sufficiently important to break.

"Well, for one, it lets us track 007's movements. He's in...ah, yes, Australia now. That cell he killed was an Aborigine Rights movement. For another, it lets us know how many terrorists are left alive in the world." A very stern look appeared on his face. "Now pay attention, because this is very important. Should even one terrorist survive 007's inquisition, then terrorism itself will bounce back stronger than ever in a few months' time. But! If he manages to wipe them all out, the consequences would be disastrous: People living without fear...governments growing closer...eventually, there'll be a full-scale global utopia." Everybody shuddered at the thought.

"Well then, enough gloom and doom, let's get you all outfitted."

He led them deeper into the labyrinthine Q Branch.

"This here is the last Aston Martin we managed to outfit with all the usual bells and whistles before funding was cut. Now, there are five of you, so it'll be a tight...squeeze..." He noticed, for the first time, that Smiley was in a wheelchair (being a quadriplegic). "Ah, right. Well, we have something more accomodating to the needs of, ah, everyone, I think." He led them to a van which sat nearby. "This was seized by the police from a notorious rapist, who as it happened was a quadriplegic as well, so he used this handicapped-accessible van."

"How did he rape people if he was a quadriplegic?" Pussy asked.

"Well, technically his dog did all the raping."

"His DOG?" Irennie asked, very interested.

"Yes, his seeing-eye dog. That's how the bastard got arrested in the first place: he drove up on the sidewalk and killed, like, twelve people." Q opened the van's side door for inspection. "They didn't get a chance to clean it up or anything, so just try to avoid the sticky spots and the restraints." Everyone present save Q began retching.

XXXX

After cleaning themselves up, the Krew followed Q as he rummaged through the mess to find usable gadgets for them. "Ah! Your old watch, Bond. Laser cutter, remote mine detonator -- just press the A and B buttons simultaneously, as usual -- and you can change your controller configuration to boot."

Bond slapped it on his wrist and tenderly kissed it. "I missed you, baby."

Kail stumbled in to the room, disheveled. "What did I miss?"

"Oh, I just got a laser watch," Bond bragged.

"Lucky! What do I get?"

"Ah, Kail, good to see you back in MI-6," Q welcomed. "Here, you can have these old x-ray specs." Kail put them on and leered at Irennie, before taking them off with a disappointed look. "Aw, Q, they don't work."

"Of course they do! Here, let me try." Q took the glasses from Kail and gazed intently at Irennie. "...Well, that's interesting. Why are you wearing lead undergarments, my dear?"

"Well, ever since I was a little girl, I've been afraid of X-rays. They killed Marie Curie, you know."

"...I see," Q and Kail said simultaneously. "Well, for you, Irennie, I have...ah, here!" He pulled a tube of lipstick from under a stack of papers. "Kiss anybody while wearing this lipstick, and they're obligated to tell the truth for sixty seconds."

"Ooh!" Irennie took it and stuck it in her pocket. "This ought to liven up the games of truth and dare Pussy and I play!"

It took Bond, Kail, and Q a concerted effort to not faint as all the blood in their head immediately drained out for parts south.

"What do I get? What do I get?" Pussy demanded.

Q scratched his head as he looked around the lab for anything that might suit her. Finally, he alit upon the perfect item. "Ah! You should love this -- ordinary compact mirror. Except the powder inside can dust for fingerprints, and the mirror can then scan and replicate the print for biometric scanners."

"Neato!" She checked her face in the mirror before slipping the compact into her own pocket.

"You know, Q, that was awfully sexist of you," Smiley pointed out.

"Say, you're right! Q, how come you gave Pussy and Irennie those girly gadgets? Why didn't you ever give me truth lipstick?" Bond asked.

"Well, because a man with lipstick is --"

"And I know that fingerprint scanning shit can fit on a cell phone -- I saw Tomorrow Never Dies," Kail pointed out.

"James broke that phone when he --"

"What the hell is wrong with you, Q? Do you live in the 18th century or something?" Bond demanded.

"Yeah, you asshole! I'll bet the real reason Robinson broke his arm is because you BEAT HIM for not picking enough COTTON FOR YOU!" Kail shouted.

"What? That makes no fucking --"

"Shut up, Q. Once you decide to start living in this century, you can start talking to us again." Bond, Kail, Irennie, and Pussy stormed out in a huff.

Q looked at Smiley. "I suppose you're going to insult me too. Well, I'm sorry, but those really were the last working gadgets I had laying around here. I doubt you need any gadgets, since you're just a huge cripple."

Smiley narrowed his eyes and flicked a switch with his mouth-wand thing. Two miniguns folded out of the side of his chair, with a rack of heat-seeking missiles rising up directly behind his head. Smiley's mouth-wand suddenly lit up with a laser sight, and he pointed it directly at Q's crotch. The miniguns and rockets all aimed directly at where the laser pointer rested -- which soon stained dark as Q wet himself.

"You're right -- I don't need any gadgets," Smiley deadpanned (a considerable accomplishment for a man with a monotonic robo-voice), and rolled out of Q Branch.


	5. Chapter 5

"Is it just me, or does anybody else feel reeeeeeally uncomfortable about this?" Kail asked aloud.

The Krew were staking out 007's next probable target -- a Ku Klux Klan cell that was planning to firebomb a primarily black church in Atlanta.

"Well gee, we're trying to save the lives of racist pieces of shit. What's to feel uncomfortable about?" Bond asked sarcastically.

"I don't get why people just don't acknowledge blacks as the superior race anyway," Pussy said.

Everybody turned to look at her. "Excuse me, but WHAT? Why the HELL would you think that?" Kail asked.

In response, Pussy held her hands a foot apart.

"She makes a very big -- er, I mean good point!" Irennie said.

Bond rolled his eyes and looked out the window. "Shit, he's here! And...oh my God, he brought J.W. Pepper!"

Bond and Sheriff J.W. Pepper had worked together several times in the past (J.W. had, in fact, called James a dewmsday musheen), but the new Bond was clearly taking advantage of J.W.'s friendship.

The Krew rushed outside to confront the two. The blonde Bond smiled indulgently at them. "Ah, if it isn't my predecessor. And you've brought some friends!" He walked up to Kail. "John, John, John. Last I heard, you were sucking cocks to earn enough money for drink."

"LIES! I ONLY EVER DID IT THE ONE TIME!" Kail shrieked.

Ignoring him, Bond moved on to Smiley. "I see you're an equal opportunity employer, James. You don't care whether a person can't move anything below their neck, as long as they're just as incompetent as you."

Dr. Zaius shat and threw its waste at Bond, who deftly dodged it. The monkey poo splattered directly onto J.W.'s face. "SHIT FIGHT!" he called out, starting to pull down his pants before everyone gave him a cross look. Disappointed, he pulled his pants back up.

At last, Bond approached the Galore sisters. "Ah, Pussy Jr. and Irennie. I loved your interview on Good Morning America." He leaned in closer to them, speaking in a stage whisper. "You should see what I can do with my little finger."

"Didn't you say that to Vesper?" James pointed out cruelly.

For a moment, 007's face grew sad, and a tear almost escaped his eye. His face grew hard once again. "That bitch is dead. And so will you all if you attempt to interfere in this 'arrest' of a terror cell."

James tried a different tact. "J.W., what are you doing here? Aren't you aware that this 007 is the bad guy?"

Pepper looked from one Bond to the other. "Well, shee-it. Jimmy just asked me to introduce him to mah cuzzin...said he wanted to join the Klan!"

James massaged the bridge of his nose. "J.W., you stupid fucking hick, haven't you been watching the news? This Bond has been systematically killing terrorists around the world. That means your cousin's next!"

J.W. grew horrified and turned to the Bond he came with...only to find him not there. He had already gone into the cell's hiding place, and screams of pain and death and violence and all that fun stuff could be heard. "RUSH! NOOOOO!" J.W. drew his six-shooter and ran into the fray, the Krew following right behind.

It was a scene of utter carnage. White was everywhere; Bond had torn the Klansmen limb from limb. In the middle of the room, one last man survived, held up by his neck by Bond. "Talk, damn you!" Bond demanded.

"Blaggh...vuuurp..." Having his airway crushed by the secret agent, the Klansman wasn't very coherent.

James drew his Walther. "That's enough, 007."

Bond again smiled indulgently, as he snapped the Klansman's neck with one hand and tossed him to the side. "Going to fight me, James? You and your ragtag band of misfits?" He scoffed. "This isn't some movie, or one of those fancy works of fanfiction. This is real life. And you? You're last year's model."

"Well, actually, I retired six years ago, so --"

"SILENCE!" 007 bellowed. "I'll spare you this one time, but I warn you, James, do not come after me again. I will make you regret it." He walked right past James, who holstered his gun.

J.W. was cradling the severed head of his cousin. "Why, Gawd? Why did you take mah cousin away from me?" he cried.

"Well, J.W., maybe in the future you shouldn't be related to racist pieces of shit," Kail observed.

The sheriff tearfully nodded. "Everybody knows blacks are the superior race anyway," he acknowledged, holding his hands a foot apart to demonstrate.

"I know, right?" Pussy said, high-fiving J.W.

XXXX

James drove the Rape Van down the road in Toronto. "So, this next terror cell is a Quebecois separatist movement who's planning on bombing the CN Tower," he explained.

"Why don't they want to blow up something important, like parliament?" Kail asked.

"Because nobody cares about Canada's parliament, whereas people outside this country have actually heard of the CN Tower," Bond explained.

The Rape Van pulled up to the seedy hotel where the terror cell was stationed. "Let's go!" Bond shouted, and the Krew rushed from the van (well, after taking a few minutes waiting for Smiley to get out and stuff).

Once they reached the door, though, they were at an impasse. "How do we actually approach these guys?" Kail asked aloud. "We can't just knock on the door and say, 'We're here to save you from a renegade spy!'"

The Galore sisters shoved Bond and Kail away from the door and proceeded to knock on it themselves. "Room service!" they announced, while lifting their shirts up. The door opened almost immediately, and the sisters punched the guy out.

"Well, that's one way to do it," Kail murmured.

The rest of the Krew rushed in and subdued the separatists, then began explaining the situation to them.

"Wait, so there're two James Bonds, and one of them wants to kill us?" One asked.

"And you want to save us," a second one asked.

"And you're supposed to be the GOOD guy?" a third asked.

"Yep!" James confirmed.

"Wrong."

The Krew turned to the new voice: 007.

"Crap! Grab the terrorists and flee!" Kail screamed, picking one guy up and trying to drag him toward the door.

The light-haired one placed a gentle hand on Kail's shoulder. "We both know that's not going to work, John." With the other hand, Bond shot the Quebecois in the head.

"Eww, you got brains and shit all over me!" Kail said disgustedly, wiping fleshy bits off his outfit.

"Now, could the rest of you please leave the room so I can finish these men off?" 007 requested.

Bond's lip quivered. "...No, James. This isn't right, what you're doing. You're going to drive MI-6 out of business."

The younger Bond smirked. "Why do you think I've been doing this?"

"...You insidous bastard," James uttered, before rushing at his replacement.

Blonde Bond casually flipped James over his shoulder, causing the elder Bond to crash in a heap behind him. "Any other takers?"

Kail poked his fingers in Bond's eyes.

"OWWW! GODDAMNIT, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" James the younger punched Kail in the stomach; then, as Kail kneeled over in pain, drove his knee into Kail's nose, breaking it with an audible crack. As Kail staggered backward, Bond delivered a roundhouse kick, throwing Kail into the wall, where he crumpled into a heap.

"Well, if that's the best M can come up with to stop me, I think I'll be done by the end of the week," Bond sneered, before casually putting a round into each of the terrorists before leaving.

"Oh, one more thing," he said, not bothering to turn around. "Remember that I told you not to come after me again."

XXXX

The Krew were on a flight back to London, where they would be briefed by M on how they should pursue 007 now. James still had an uneasy feeling in his stomach as to the other Bond's cryptic warning.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please focus your attention to the front of the cabin. An important announcement is being made." The stewardess turned on the TV mounted at the front of the cabin.

"Guys, look, it's 007! And he's addressing the UN!" Kail pointed out.

"Gee, Kail, thanks for that. We couldn't tell, since we're fucking blind," Smiley growled. (Well, if his robovoice had the capability to growl, it totally would).

The Bond on TV began to speak. "Delegates of the United Nations, I come before you not as a British intelligence agent, but as a humble citizen of humanity. You see, I have discovered that MI-6, the very organization I work for, has stooped to aiding and abetting known terrorists around the globe, for no rhyme or reason other than a simple breakdown of morals and ethics in the entire structure. I have no reason to believe that it doesn't stop with MI-6 -- no, it is my firm belief that the corruption is indemic to the highest levels of authority: the Queen herself." A tear rolled down his cheek. "It pains me almost beyond my endurance to admit it, but the United Kingdom itself has become a rogue state, sponsoring terrorism so that it may further its own foul cause in the world order. Therefore, with a heavy heart, I would ask that the assembled delegates move against my home country with whatever force you can bring to bear."

Kail chuckled. "Yarite, like the UN will do anything except write a strongly worded letter."

"All those in favor of declaring war upon Britain and every single one of its citizens?"

"AYE!" was the resounding answer from every single one of the delegates.

"Very well. The time has come: Execute Order 66," Secretary General Palpatine uttered.

Suddenly, every eye in the cabin turned to the Krew, who all had loudly demanded window seats on the basis of being agents of MI-6.

Bond turned to Kail. "I'd have to say that was a pretty fucking strongly worded letter." 


	6. Chapter 6

Several passengers each immediately tackled the members of the Krew. Bond and Kail shrugged their attackers off easily enough, but Irennie and Pussy merely began shouting "OH YEAH!" and "MORE, MORE, MORE!" This had the opposite effect, repelling the people who grabbed them in the first place.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I think it's time to leave," Smiley intoned, pressing a switch with his mouth rod. One of the miniguns swung out from his wheelchair and began firing hundreds of rounds a minute, tearing through the fuselage like a hot knife through butter. Within seconds, a large hole had been torn in the side of the plane. creating a massive windstorm as all the air in the cabin began to get sucked out. Half-empty drinks, napkins, pens, blankets -- all were sucked out of the plane.

"Grab onto my wheelchair," Smiley commanded the others, who obeyed without question. (When a quadriplegic with a laser-guided minigun gives you an order, brother, you follow that order). Without further instruction, Smiley impelled the wheelchair forward through the hole.

The Krew were greeted with the sight of the Atlantic Ocean, several miles below and closing fast.

"OKAY, WISE GUY, NOW WHAT?" Kail screamed into Smiley's ear.

"WHAT?" Smiley screamed back.

"WHAT?" Kail screamed back.

"WHAT?" Bond screamed, joining in.

"WHEEEEEEE!" Pussy and Irennie screamed.

"LOOK!" Bond screamed, pointing a finger at the plane they had just exited.

"WHAT?" Kail screamed, before following Bond's finger. "THE PLANE! IT'S COMING AROUND FOR US!"

Indeed, the passenger jet was banking around, apparently intending to intercept the Krew before they could plummet to their deaths.

Kail tapped Smiley on the shoulder and, after realizing how stupid it was to tap a paralyzed man on the shoulder, tapped him on the head to get his attention. When he pointed out the incoming jetliner, though, Smiley just smiled and nodded. (Well, I don't know if dudes paralyzed from the neck down can nod. Just pretend that they can.)

"I ALWAYS LOVED YOU!" Bond shouted to Kail as the plane bore down on them.

"I ALWAYS LOVED IHOP!" Kail screamed, letting his love for eating breakfast at all hours of the day show.

"I ALWAYS LOVED AS MANY GUYS AS POSSIBLE!" Pussy screamed, surprising nobody.

"I ALWAYS LOVED KA-" Irennie was caught off as the plane reached them.

Smiley tapped a control with his mouth rod and a jet booster on the bottom of his wheelchair ignited for just a moment. It was enough to propel them out of the path of the airliner. Smiley tapped another control, and a grappling hook shot out from the chair, grabbing onto the plane's frame. Reeling the chair in, Smiley tapped a third control, which shot spikes out from the wheelchair's wheels, embedding themselves into the plane's fuselage and anchoring the chair and its occupants to the plane itself.

"SMILEY, YOU'RE A GENIUS!" Kail crowed, kissing Smiley on the cheek.

"HEY, GET OUT OF MY WAY!" Bond cried, kissing Smiley on the other cheek.

"GUYS, GUYS, SMILEY DOESN'T WANT THAT!" Pussy screamed, as she shoved her tongue down Smiley's throat -- only stopping when Dr. Zaius began to hump the back of her neck. "WAIT YOUR TURN!" she scolded the monkey.

XXXX

Several hours later, the Krew were finally relieved to see the plane flying over land. (France, as a matter of fact; since the entire world was now in a state of war with England, all flights to the island nation had been diverted). The plane had to fly low to the ground, as Smiley had depressurized the passenger cabin with his awesome stunt.

"FIVE SECONDS!" Smiley shouted. Everybody could actually hear him, since he could amplify his robo-voice far louder than the wind whipping at them could tear it away.

"FIVE SECONDS? FIVE SECONDS WHAT?" Kail demanded. Before he could receive an answer, though, Smiley tapped a control, retracting the wheelchair's spikes, causing the chair to fly off the back of the plane almost instantaneously. The Krew began screaming again, as the ground was much closer and death was much more imminent.

Smiley ignored their death cries and tapped another control -- and suddenly, the Krew were jerked backward as a parachute deployed behind them, killing their forward momentum. They slowly drifted downward, until finally just a few dozen feet from the ground Smiley tapped one last control, inflating a large airbag which cushioned their landing.

The Krew tossed the parachute off of themselves and looked around. "We made it," Kail said with disbelief. "We actually MADE IT!"

Bond turned to Smiley. "Smiley, that is the coolest fucking wheelchair in history. You know that, right?"

Smiley smirked. "Shit, Bond. That's just how I roll."

Bond groaned. "Weak, Smiley."

The Krew took a few minutes to walk around, stretch a bit, go to the bathroom behind trees, etc. Finally, Bond spoke up again. "Okay, guys, according to my watch, there's an MI-6 safehouse a few miles from here. We should be able to make it by nightfall."

XXXX

The Krew made it to the safehouse without incident. They were puzzled on how to get inside at first, until Kail discovered the key hidden cleverly under the Welcome mat. Inside, they found the radio used to communicate with MI-6 headquarters, but the messages they sent were never replied to.

In the den, Smiley and Pussy found a TV and turned it on. "Guys, you have to see this!" Pussy called out.

The rest of the Krew filed into the room and watched the news -- first with shock, then with horror, and finally, blissfully, numbness.

London was in ruins.

Within the scant few hours of the announcement and present, London had been worked over by UN Coalition forces -- mainly bombers and paratroopers.

They watched as the network replayed previously-recorded footage of the Prime Minister being captured by a French division and executed messily right on Downing Street. Hot, salty tears burned down their cheeks as they observed the smoking ruins of what used to be landmarks such as Big Ben, Parliament, and MI-6 headquarters itself. Hundreds of Londoners were being arrested and shipped off to God knew where.

It was a living nightmare.

There were unconfirmed reports of preemptive nuclear attacks on Britain's airfields, but that seemed unlikely as that would provoke a retaliatory strike by the UK nuclear submarine fleet.

There were a few spots of good news: the Queen had eluded capture so far, and was rumored to have left the country entirely, apparently vowing to return and liberate her subjects soon. And there was no word on the capture of M.

Finally, as the clock slunk past one in the morning, the Krew drifted out of the room one by one to sleep.

XXXX

The mood over breakfast was a somber one. "What do we do now?" Kail asked aloud.

"I'm going home," Smiley replied first.

"What?" Bond asked increduously.

"Well, since your country was just conquered and all, I doubt I'll be getting paid," Smiley explained. "Besides, I'm not English. That means I can probably beg ignorance and get a full pardon."

The Galore sisters exchanged terse glances. "We think...we think we want to go home, too," they said. "I mean, you guys are fun as fuck, don't get us wrong, but this is just a little over our heads."

"...Maybe they're right, James. Maybe we should just try to vanish under the radar and let the world forget us," Kail said, defeated.

Bond was silent for a minute.

"I can't goddamn believe a single one of you."

That got their attention.

"Not even a day ago, we were just fighting a silly crusade to preserve terrorism so we'd all have jobs tomorrow. Now, my home -- the nation which withstood Caesar, Philip, Napoleon, and Hitler -- lays broken upon the back of the world. All due to that smug bastard wearing my name like an ill-fitting hat."

"Are we really going to let that piece of shit get away with this? Will we let him get away with threatening one of the sturdiest pillars of western civilization so?"

"...No," Kail spoke. "I'll stick with you, James, 'til the very end, if it comes down to it."

"And you, Pussy and Irennie?" Bond asked.

"You can count on us!" they assured him.

James turned to Smiley. "Remington, what say you?"

Smiley was silent for a long moment. "Do you know why I became an assassin, even in my condition?" he asked. Bond shook his head. "Winston Churchill. One of history's greatest badasses, you know. He held the British will together with every ounce of his considerable might, and therefore kept England in the war long enough for America to join and crush Hitler. So I became the world's greatest assassin despite my handicap, simply so I could strive to be in a league of badassery close to him. While I may not care much for England as a nation, I respect Churchill far too much to let his sacrifices be in vain now. I'm in."

"You can count me in too, James."

Everybody turned to the new voice. "Q!" Bond cried out, embracing his old friend. "You survived!"

"Of course I did, you dunderhead!" he chided. "Haven't I told you, always have an escape plan?" He held up a DVD. "I have an important message for you -- from M."

XXXX

The Krew watched expectantly as Bond popped in the DVD. After a moment, it began automatically playing.

M was sitting calmly in her office. However, in the background, air raid sirens could be heard, and occasionally the screen shook as bombs impacted close by; it clearly had been shot during the bombing of London.

"James, it seems our mutual friend has raised the stakes considerably, as it were. We're no longer fighting for job security, but for our very survival." She looked off in the distance. "I never thought it would actually come down to this...But I digress. Moneypenny has burned above top secret files to this disc, files you must examine if you are to defeat 007. You see, Bond...you aren't the first James Bond to survive the title being passed on. The very first James Bond is alive and well, and we believe he is currently living in the United States. He was captured by the Americans' FBI, where he gave them a false name. It's unknown why he didn't give them his real identity -- Felix Leiter would have picked up on it and had him released within 24 hours -- but he remained jailed for decades as a result. Several years ago, however, he was declared killed in an escape attempt."

"However, we have very good reason to believe he still lives. Your contact is a woman in San Francisco named Jade Angelou." 


	7. Chapter 7

James knocked on the door of the house registered to Jade Angelou in San Francisco. She hadn't been at her place of work, and so Bond and Kail had gone to her home to find out if she was there. "Ms. Angelou? I'm with Br...uh, Brunei intelligence. If I could, I'd like to ask you a few questions." There was no answer.

Glancing at Kail, James tried the door knob. The door was unlocked, so James pushed the door open. "Hello?" he called out. Again, there was no answer. "Hmm. Kail, you check upstairs. I'll clear this floor." Kail nodded and went up the staircase, while Bond moved into the kitchen.

"Huh," he said, observing a pot of water boiling on the stove. "She can't have been here more than a few minutes ago..." he mused out loud. "GAHK!" he cried, as an arm wrapped around his neck, closing his windpipe.

"You misherable peesh of shit," a harsh voice whispered into his ear. "You thought you could get to me by going through my daughter? Guesh again, fuckhead," the voice snarled.

"You guess again, fuckhead," Kail mocked, placing his own gun against the man's head. Defeated, he reluctantly let go of Bond's neck, who fell to his hands and knees, gasping for breath. After a moment, he collected himself and stood back up.

"Now, Mr. Mason, we have no intention of harming your daughter, believe me."

"Oh really? Aren't you the new Jamesh Bond? The one who jusht betrayed England?" Mason demanded.

James shook his head. "No, I'm was Bond before him. And, unless I'm off my mark, you're the one before all others: the first Bond."

Mason -- or Bond -- calculated James coolly with his eyes, then Kail. "I shupposhe you aren't complete shit, then," he conceded. "Pleashe, though, call me Mashon. I left Jamesh Bond behind to protect my daughter, Jade."

James nodded. "I can respect that...Mason. But we need your help. Myself and the rest of my Krew are unable to take down the new 007, and M seemed to think that you could help us."

Mason grinned. "Ah, M! HOw ish the old bashtard?" he asked.

"Er...the M you knew died a few decades ago, actually," Kail pointed out. "M is a lady these days."

"M hash become a tourisht attraction?" Mason asked, dumbfounded.

"Huh?" Bond asked.

"You shee, it'sh a joke...shinsh all women are whoresh...and...oh, forget it," Mason said, waving it off.

Bond and Kail exchanged a look, as if asking 'Did he really just casually slur half the world's population?' The two shook it off. "Come on, uh, Mason. We should be going," Bond said, beckoning his predecessor to follow him.

XXXX

The three arrived at an MI-6 safehouse in San Francisco, where the rest of the Krew waited. (They had decided not to travel all together, so as to avoid drawing suspicion). Upon noticing the Galore sisters, Mason sauntered up to them. "Hello, ladiesh," he introduced himself. "Would you happen to be intereshted in the shixtiesh' biggesht shex shymbol?"

"...What the fuck did you just say?" Irennie asked, not being able to decode what he had said.

"Something about being a big sex symbol in the 60s, sis," Pussy explained.

"That'sh right! Care to shee if I shtill am, or have I losht my shex appeal?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Pussy said, holding her hands up. "You're the original James Bond, right?"

"That'sh right," he confirmed.

"In her letters to us from prison, Mom always said you were the only man to ever fuck her," Irennie continued.

"...Yesh?" Mason said, confused as to where they were going with this.

"That means you're totally our father!" Pussy concluded. The sisters squealed and rushed forward to hug him, causing him to squawk as one of his ribs snapped like a milk-sodden graham cracker.

"Tell us, daddy, what was your first time with mommy like?" Pussy asked disturbingly.

"Well, we were in a barn, and I raped her," he explained unembarrasedly. "She didn't fight back after the firsht time, though," he went on to clarify.

The Galore sisters stared at him for a moment, then knocked him over and began to pummel him repeatedly. This went only for a few moments, however, as Bond and Kail pulled them off the aging superspy. "Now now, girls, if we murder our crazy misogynist friend, he won't be able to help us save the world," he patiently explained.

"Oh, FINE," the sisters grudgingly agreed, and waged no more hostile actions against Mason, save for shooting daggers at him with their eyes.

"Now, we need a gameplan," Kail said. "Q, how many terrorists are left in the world?"

Q checked the International Terrorist Database website on his laptop. "Less than a hundred, I'm afraid. Many of them have gone underground and don't want to be found by anybody. The Americas are practically devoid of all terrorists; same with Europe. Russian has a few Chechnyan separatists, but 007 is en route to them right now. ...Ah, there's one just across the Pacific Ocean, in Japan. And I understand, 'Mason', that he's an old friend of yours..."

Mason stared at the laptop's screen for a moment before leaving the room, fists clenched.

"I guess we're going after him, then, if only to prevent Mason from killing him," Kail said.

"Right. Pussy, Irennie, I have a mission for you: Slow down 007. DO whatever it takes, but make sure he doesn't get to Japan before us," Bond instructed.

The Galore sisters grinned ear-to-ear. Bond suddenly had a bad feeling...

XXXX

The Galore sisters waited expectantly in their penthouse apartment. Mr. Bear and Miss Frog were dressed in their finest garments, and they'd even busted out their nicest teapot. Finally, the doorbell rang.

"Answer it!" Pussy urged her sister.

"No, you answer it!" Irennie returned.

"...Let's both answer it!"

They opened the front door. "Ladies," James Bond (the blonde one) greeted. "It was so thoughtful of you to invite me for tea. I thought you were friends with that...other Bond, after all." He mentioned his predecessor's name with a disgusted look, like he smelled a fart.

"Oh, pff! Don't be silly! We were just using them for sex," Pussy explained.

Bond smiled. "Ah, a noble endeavour. Shall we?" he asked, gesturing towards the designated tea area.

The sisters sat Bond between Mr. Bear and Miss Frog. "Now, be mindful of their feelings," Irennie instructed Bond. "Mr. Bear and Miss Frog haven't been speaking lately, and we'd like it very much if you didn't bring it up."

Bond look a bit put-off by this, but eventually nodded. "Right. Could I have just a few drops of honey in my tea, please?"

"Certainly!" Pussy grabbed the bottle of honey, held it over Bond's cup, and squeezed until the bottle was empty. Tea had been displaced out of the cup, pooling onto the saucer and eventually the table itself (staining the nice tablecloth).

"Uh...that's enough," Bond said weakly.

"Well? Have a sip! See how it tastes!" Irennie asked. Both of the Galore sisters leaned forward expectantly, staring Bond down until he finally lifted the cup and took a sip. He nearly gagged from the sheer amount of sweetness present in the beverage.

"It's...good..." he managed to croak out.

"That's great!" Pussy smiled. "But you forgot one little thing..."

Pussy and Irennie whipped out tasers and fired them into Bond, shocking him with thousands of volts of electricity. The secret agent roared in pain, falling to the floor, breaking the teacup and getting globs of honey all over the place, shitting and pissing himself, and spasming wildly to boot.

After exhausting the tasers' batteries, the sisters approached Bond. "You forgot to stick your little finger out when you sipped the tea," Pussy explained.

"You don't...know what...my little finger..." Bond attempted to explain, but drifted off into unconsciousness.

XXXX

The helicopter flew over the broken remains of the volcano in Japan. "It sheemsh like it wash jusht yeshterday...M called it the evil bashe of dreamsh, and it wash, it really wash..."

"Yeah, we get it, a Titanic joke. Real fucking topical," Kail said with scorn.

"...Yeah," Bond agreed lamely, inwardly weeping that his friend Kail didn't share his love of the finest motion picture of the 20th century.

"Is it possible it's still intact, after all these years?" Smiley robot'd.

"Well, while it DID self-destruct, the dome itself hasn't collapsed. If that survived, perhaps more of the structure underground survived," Mason reasoned.

Smiley nodded. "Dr. Zaius, take us down."

The monkey saluted and landed the helicopter near the base of the mountain.

Kail, Mason, and James left the helicopter. "Sorry, Smiley, but this mountain doesn't have a handicap-accessible ramp," James joked. "You'll have to stay here."

"I killed the owner of that gay bar because he didn't have a handicap-accessible ramp for his establishment," Smiley pointed out.

"Did you, now? So, you WANTED to go to the gay bar?"

"...It's the principle of the matter," Smiley rebutted weakly.

"Sure, sure," James nodded, hurrying to catch up with the others.

After several hours of hiking, they finally reached the summit. "Look, the plashe ish shtill intact!" Mason pointed out, peering down through the shattered blast doors. While it was dark and filled with debris, the facility still appeared to be relatively intact.

"Hey, there are ropes here we can climb down with!" James said excitedly, beginning to shimmy down.

"James, NO!" Kail cried, but it was too late. The rope snapped, and James fell several dozen feet. Fortunately, his fall was broken by his BIG FAT ASS.

"I'm big-boned!" Bond wept.

Kail and Mason climbed down using a rope Kail had brought for the very purpose. "That'sh what you get for ushing ropesh that have been hanging there for forty yearsh," Mason chided, giving Bond a hand up.

The trio turned on their flashlights and explored deeper into the old SPECTRE launch facility. In the 1960s, the terrorist organization had attempted to provoke a nuclear war between the East and West by kidnapping both nations' space capsules, but had been foiled at the eleventh hour by Mason.

Now, the place seemed to be inhabited solely by rodents and spiders. More than once, James or Kail shrieked as they walked into a spiderweb.

"In my day, we didn't let total fucking pushiesh into MI-Shix," Mason complained.

"Then how did you get in?" Kail asked.

"Ouch, ice burn!" James high-fived Kail.

"Are you gentlemen looking for somebody?" a voice broke the mirth.

"Whoozat?" Kail asked.

"It'sh him," Mason growled.

"Ah, a voice I haven't heard in several decades. How are you, Mr. Bond?" A motorized wheelchair moved into the path of the beams from the agents' flashlights. A distinctive scar ran down the face of the wheelchair's occupant, mauling the man's right eye. He was bald, and wore a solid gray outfit.

"Ernst Stavro Blofeld, at your service." 


	8. Chapter 8

"So, what brings you to my humble abode, Mr. Bond? Come to revel in my ruin? Or perhaps you're just here to kill me?"

"You...Tracy..." Mason choked out.

"Tracy?" Kail asked James in a whisper. "That's his dead wife, isn't it?"

James shook his head. "Blofeld was responsible for putting Tracy Sketchit into the Pokemon anime."

"The bastard."

James stepped forward; as he did, Blofeld pushed a button on his wheelchair. A grinding noise came from below James, but nothing else happened.

"Er, what was that?" James asked.

"Nothing!" Blofeld reassured him.

"Mr. Blofeld, this older man isn't James Bond anymore. I am, and I'm here to stop another James Bond from killing you."

It took Blofeld a moment to process this. "So many Bonds running around these days...it's almost like they grow you in a factory," he taunted. Blofeld pressed another button.

An axe swung down from the ceiling, but when it struck Bond, it exploded into a million particles of rust.

James brushed rust particles off of his tuxedo. "Please stop doing that. Anyway, if we don't save at least one terrorist, then we'll be out of a job. Oh, and we have to kill the other Bond and prove that England isn't a terrorist-supporting state."

At this, Blofeld laughed aloud. "You do realize, Mr. Bond, that your two goals are entirely at odds with one another?"

"Pff, I'm in intelligence work. We thrive on contradictions."

"That sentence made even less sense than the previous one."

Bond pouted. "I just wanted to sound cool..."

Kail injected himself into the conversation. "How do you live up here, anyway? You can't have tons of food and shit stored away, can you?"

Blofeld shook his head. "I don't have food...and 'shit'...stored away. I just use the handicap ramp on the other side of the mountain to go to the local grocery store, to get my ramen on."

"Handicap ramp?" Kail laughed. "Boy, is Smiley gonna be pissed."

Blofeld gestured behind him. "After you, gentlemen."

Bond and Kail shrugged and went the way Blofeld indicated. Mason sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. (I dislike using turns of phrase too often lest they get old and tired; I know I've used that one in particular at least three times this fic, and I'm sorry). After a minute, Bond and Kail let out a short scream, followed by a thud.

"Thud? That's supposed to be a splash!" Blofeld said.

"Hey, it's an empty pool!" Bond called out.

"There are a bunch of pirahna skeletons! They're neat!" Kail added.

"Aww," Blofeld pouted. Mason just sighed.

XXXX

Bond, Kail, and Mason walked up to the helicopter, while Blofeld rolled. Smiley was waiting outside of the helicopter. "Ah, I see you have another cripple on your team," Blofeld observed.

"Yeeeeah, he's kind of sensitive about it, so don't --"

"HEY! CRIPPLE-MAN!" Blofeld shouted. "NICE QUADRIPLEGISM YOU HAVE THERE!"

"At least I'm not a deformed cyclops," Smiley retorted. "Bump into any walls lately, since you don't have depth perception?"

"I don't have problems bumping into walls, since I can wave my hands in front of me!"

"What are they doing?" Bond asked Kail.

"It's a handicapped thing. They're competing for alpha cripple status."

"Ah." They went back to watching the stand-off.

"Tell me, what do women think when they can't even hold your hand?" Blofeld cruelly asked.

"What do women think when they run their hands through your hair? Oh wait you don't have any."

"And who needs a monkey to get around? A fucking loser, that's who."

"Better a live monkey than a dead cat."

"What?"

Blofeld looked down at his lap, along with Bond and Kail. What the trio had previously not been able to see in the darkness of the old volcanic base was the cat in Blofeld's lap, long-dead. Only bones and a diamond-studded collar remained.

"ERNST JUNIOR!" Blofeld cried out, sobbing.

Bond and Kail bumped fists. "Smiley 1, Blofeld zero."

XXXX

Everybody arrived back in San Francisco to meet up and plan on what to do next. To leave Japan, Bond and Kail had elected to dress up as cripples like Smiley and Blofeld. Their plan almost failed when they were ID'd via photograph by a TSA official (or whatever the hell the Japanese equivalent is), but threatening to email with allegations of handicapped discrimination had gotten them boarded, AND upgraded to first class!

James spoke with the Galore sisters first. "How did you two girls do? You must have delayed him...how did you do it?" he asked.

"Well, we invited him over for tea, we tasered him, we sodomized him with our spiked dildo, and then we let him go free," Pussy said.

James' eye twitched. "...You...you let him go FREE? Are you two retarded or something? We would all be far, far better off in the long run if you had just killed him while you had him incapacitated! Why in the world would you let him go free?"

"Uh, duh?" Irennie said. "It wouldn't be much of a fic if we killed off the main bad guy before the climax."

"...Point. But why did you sodomize him?"

"Well, we wanted to get a sample of his DNA, and it seemed like the most fun way to do so."

Bond subconsciously clenched his ass-cheeks together. "Right. Well, did you analyze his DNA? What did you find?"

Pussy whipped out her clipboard. "We found some very disturbing discoveries, let me tell you."

XXXX

Pussy had set up a projector so her PowerPoint demonstration could be seen by the entire Krew, as well as Q and Blofeld.

"007 was not just the result of a drunken, one-night stand of regret," she began. "There are clear indicators that he was manufactured on the genetic level, and I was horrified to discover who some of his genetic sequences were from."

She clicked to the next page. Kail gasped in shock. "No! It can't be!"

"At least a quarter of 007's DNA sequence came from the American actor Samuel L. Jackson. This seems to contribute a great deal to his ability to withstand torment and punishment, as well as his badassness."

"It also explains his giant dick," Irennie added, helpfully holding her hands a foot apart.

The next image came onscreen. "Oh, FUCK," Bond said.

"The second quarter of his DNA came from Jack Bauer. Bauer, an agent of CTU, is an unstoppable killing machine. He's actually died and risen back to life more times than Jesus Christ himself. 007 seems to have inherited his intense hatred of terrorists and brutal efficiency from Bauer -- a pity he didn't also get the desire to slowly torture people to death, as that's the only thing keeping Bauer himself from having wiped terrorism off the face of the planet years ago."

The next picture appeared onscreen. "Oh, this time it's personal," Smiley said in his normal monotone. (Though if he could speak, he'd totally have said it in a seething voice.

"DNA from Winston Churchill makes up the third quarter of Bond's DNA. This gives Bond authority on the world diplomatic stage -- which is how he was able to manipulate the UN so easily -- and his badassness rating is increased tenfold just by sharing the same DNA."

The fourth picture appeared onscreen. It was a generic blacked-out profile with a question mark over the face.

"We don't know from whom the last quarter of Bond's DNA is drawn from. There are bizarre anomalies in this sequence of his DNA...anomalies I can't begin to guess at what they do." She shrugged. "Sorry I couldn't be of any more help, guys."

Bond contemplated for a moment. "Guys, if 007 was manufactured, that means it goes higher than him. And who do we turn to to expose high-level conspiracies?"

The Krew were silent for a moment. "...You can't possibly mean--" Kail was interrupted.

"Oh yes, I can possibly mean. And besides, he has every right to help us with this. After all, whoever's responsible for manufacturing 007 stole a quarter of his DNA to do so."

"Then it's off to Los Angeles...and Jack Bauer," Smiley concluded.

DOOT DEET DOOT DEET

XXXX

DOOT DEET DOOT DEET

Jack Bauer shook James Bond's hand. "I can't thank you enough for your help these past 24 hours. You really are a living legend, especially due to all those badass things we did together."

Bond grinned. "Me, badass? Hell, how about that awesome thing you did just before midnight?" The two men laughed.

"Okay, we're both badasses," Jack Bauer acknowledged.

"You know, I never actually realized that an overwhelming majority of the U.S. government was comprised of moles."

Jack shook his head. "Not the whole government. Just the executive branch and most law enforcement agencies."

"And the traffic in Los Angeles is great! We could go anywhere in the city at all within fifteen minutes!"

Jack nodded. "Too bad helicopters take twenty minutes," he groused.

"You know, the people I feel really sorry for are the folks who missed the non-stop twenty-four action-packed hours we just went through." They both stared pointedly at the reader.

Jack's cell phone began to ring. "This is Bauer," he growled. "Chloe, you got the information? Download it to my cell phone. Thanks." He looked at the cell phone's display, horror dawning on his face. "My God...I never imagined..." Suddenly, his watch beeped. "Oh gosh, has it been exactly 24 hours, then? Look, James, it's been fun, but I've really got to go!"

"Go where?"

"To the bathroom! I haven't tinkled or doodied in 24 hours!"

"Couldn't you have just gone during the commercial breaks?" Bond asked.

"THERE'S NO TIME!!!!1" Jack broke into a dead run for the nearest bathroom.

James stared at Jack, a little frightened. "Um. Can I at least have the info?"

"Sure!" Jack said, tossing the cell phone behind him without looking back. The rest of the Krew approached as James read the info on the screen.

"Who is it, James?" Kail asked. "How far up does the conspiracy go?"

"It...it goes all the way to the top," James uttered.

"You mean...the White House?" Irennie asked worriedly.

"Higher," James croaked.

"What could possibly be higher than the White House?" Kail asked.

James showed the cell phone to everybody. "The Whyte House."

A picture of President Willard Whyte filled the phone's screen.

DOOT DEET DOOT DEET DOOT 


	9. Chapter 9

The Rape Van pulled up in front of the Whyte House, high-tech gambling fortress home to reclusive industrialist/President of the United States Willard Whyte.

"One thing I don't get is that Willard wasn't evil before," James said. "He totally helped me kick Blofeld's ass. No offense," he added, reassuring the crippled megalomaniac next to him.

"None taken," Blofeld replied sourly.

"Well, James, the way I figure it, Whyte was an industrialist, and then he became a politician. He was bound to turn evil sooner or later," Kail suggested.

James shrugged. "Well, I'm sorry he did, because we have to kick his ass and save England now."

"Shit yeah!" the Krew agreed, striking heroic poses (or, in Smiley's case, Dr. Zaius did a cute monkey pose).

"So...we just walk through the front door?" Kail asked.

"No! Don't be stupid! We go in through the SIDE door!"

"And how do we do that?" Smiley asked.

James winked. "I have an inside man."

XXXX

The Krew waited as James knocked out a complicatedly-long code on the door. The person on the other side knocked a similarly-long code, to which James replied with a third series of knocks. Finally, the door opened up.

"Felix!" Mason greeted. "It'sh been forever! Lasht I heard, you had one leg. Now look at you! And you've even become a Negro!"

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ," James said, face in palm.

"Uh...nice to see you too, James," Felix greeted awkwardly.

"Felix, you old darkie, we have to have lunch sometime..."

"Uh, that sounds...great...but I really have to be going. Good luck in there, James," he said to James, before walking away from Mason as fast as possible.

The Krew glared at Mason. "What? I'm a product of my age!"

Inside the Whyte House, the Krew found an elevator and stepped in. James helpfully pressed the button marked "Presidential Suite."

"So, after we take out the Secret Service agents, do we arrest Whyte, or just shoot him?" Kail asked.

"Uh...Secret Service agents?" Bond asked stupidly.

"...Yes, James, the guys with SMGs who'll KILL US DEAD when we try to attack the PRESIDENT?" Kail yelled.

"...Oh."

"'Oh', he says," Kail snarls. "It's been nice knowing you guys, really."

The elevator doors slid open, revealing two women in leotards.

"...Oh, I forgot. This is a James Bond 'fic. Nothing makes sense."

"That'sh Bambi and Thumper!" Mason shouted in recognition. "One of them kneed me in the ballsh! How will we get pasht them?"

The eyes of everyone in the elevator turned to Pussy and Irennie. "...What?"

XXXX

Bambi and Thumper wearily eyed the Krew as they remained in the elevator. Finally, the two women of the group stepped out of the elevator.

"So, girls, what'll it be?" Bambi taunted.

"Knives? Guns, or our bare fists and feet?" Thumper followed up.

Pussy and Irennie shared a look. Then, in unison, they screamed "PILLOW FIGHT!" They seized two pillows sitting nearby on a bed and charged Bambi and Thumper.

As the feathers began to fill up the room, the rest of the Krew snuck into the next room of the suite...

XXXX

"Ah, ah was wonderin' when y'all was gonna show up," President Willard Whyte drawled. He was casually leaning against his desk and staring out the window into the night as if he was commenting on the view.

"Willard, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to place you under arrest," Bond said.

"For what, Jimmy?"

"For masterminding...uh, this whole thing. The killing-all-terrorists, framing-England thing."

Whyte broke out into a big grin. "Shucks, Jimmy, ah'm from Texas. You really think ah could come up with all'o that? Mah boss here did," he said, gesturing to the man in the wheelchair next to Bond.

The wheelchair rolled forward, stopping and turning to face the Krew when it reached Whyte. Ernst Stavro Blofeld locked its brakes and stood up. "Suck it, cripple," he murmured to Smiley, who scowled.

"Yes, it is I, Ernst Stavro Blofeld, who masterminded, as you put it, the killing-all-terrorists, framing-England thing, Mr. Bond. Do you care to know why?"

Bond nodded. "I would like to be enlightened, yes."

"You see, Mr. Bond, terrorists these days have no vision. They fly an airplane into a prominent landmark, or they blow up an embassy, or cut off a soldier's head. To what end? To spread their ideological views?" Blofeld scoffed. "Ideologies are as fragile as sandcastles, Mr. Bond. Autocracies, monarchies, republics, democracies, all will fold in time. The one institution which has been stable since the dawn of man has been money."

Bond's jaw dropped. "Money?"

"Yes, Mr. Bond. Pure, undiluted capital. It makes the world go 'round, as they say. Not God, not the will of the people. Money. Willard and I set this plan into motion nearly forty years ago, and today our goal is nearly complete."

"But why kill all the other terrorists?" Kail asked.

"Obvious, isn't it, Mr. Kail? They're the competition. Would the United Nations really pay any attention to me if every Joe Sixpack with the motor skills of a monkey can build a bomb and kill one or two dozen people? I suppose I could have brought some of them into my employ...but that would be a draw on my resources, and time and again my experiences with you, Mr. Bond, have proven that any subordinates I might have are too incompetent to aid me in the long run."

"Why did it take you 38 years?" Smiley asked.

Blofeld smiled indulgently. "I will admit, it does seem a bit lengthy, doesn't it? It took a while for the political maneuvering to insert Mr. Whyte into the position of Chief Executive. Meanwhile, we had to design and grow an infiltrator into MI-6 who would obey our every command -- namely, the one to kill all terrorists."

"The other Bond," James growled.

"Exactly. And as it so happens, getting England destroyed was...well, it was a last minute improvisational act on our 007's part, and it worked magnificently. You see, MI-6 is the only competent intelligence agency in the world. With MI-6 out of the way, no country in the world would be able to stop me."

"Not even Felix Leiter?" James asked.

Blofeld scoffed. "The man who got his leg eaten by a shark? The man who lost $10 million of his country's money to a terrorist in a game of poker? I should hardly think so."

Blofeld checked his watch. "Ah, our guest should be arriving right about now."

As Blofeld finished speaking, the door at the far end of the room opened, and the Blonde Bond walked in. "Hello, James," he greeted, drawing his PPK and firing.

"NO!" Mason shouted, shoving James out of the way. He shuddered when the bullet struck him -- dead center in the chest. "It...it hurtsh..." he uttered, collapsing.

"MASON!" James cried out in anguish. He gently propped the older man's head up. "Mason! Are you hurt?"

"What...the fuck...do you think, you shtupid idiot?" Mason wheezed out. He coughed up a wad of blood.

"You...you saved me..." Tears began to streak down James' face.

"I did, lad...I think you're the besht hope the world hash now. It'sh not a time for old codgersh like me anymore..." He made the sign of the cross. "God help ush all..."

"Mason, please, is there anything I can do for you?"

"Find my shon, George. Tell him I love him. Tell Pushy Jr. and Irennie that they're the mosht beautiful women I never fucked. And tell Pushy Shenior that I love...that I love..."

Mason closed his eyes, and did not open them.

James let out a sob, then choked back the rest. He looked up to 007. "You and I have unfinished business," he gritted from between his teeth.

"Come and get me, then," the younger Bond taunted, darting out the door. James followed seconds later.

XXXX

Whyte and Blofeld wearily eyed Smiley and Kail. "So, Ernie, you take Kail, I take Smiley?"

"Sure. And I told you not to call me Ernie!" Blofeld chided.

Whyte approached Smiley. "So...you a cripple, then? Back in Texas, we hang cripples all the time!"

"How delightful," Smiley sneered robotically.

Whyte ran behind Smiley's wheelchair. "What -- what are you doing!" Smiley demanded.

"We're going for a ride! Wheeee!" Whyte pushed Smiley through the same door the Bonds went through.

That left Kail and Blofeld together in the room.

"So," Kail began. "How is it that Bond could never kill you off permanently?"

"Well, it's quite simple. He--" BANG!

Blofeld fell to the floor, a smoking hole in the middle of his forehead. Kail reholstered his Falcon 2. "He let you talk too much, I think."

XXXX

Whyte pushed Smiley into the stair well. "See anything yuh like, Smiley?" Whyte asked.

"There's no handicapped ramp," Smiley buzzed with anger.

"That's right!" Whyte tittered with glee, giving Smiley a big shove.

"Nooooooooo," Smiley cried out, before his wheelchair reached the stairs.

The chair crashed down the stairs, throwing Smiley to the landing just before landing on him, pinning him down.

Smiley tried to speak, to summon Dr. Zaius. But his vocoder had been broken in the impact. So he let out a guttural moan. "Uuuuuuuuuunnnhhh," it sounded like, if you were particularly interested.

Moving his eyes around, he spotted Dr. Zaius at the edge of his peripheral vision, lying still. "Zuuuuuuuuuuuh," he managed to spit out.

"Oh, your little monkey friend?" Whyte asked, swaggering down the stairs. "Looks like he's dead." Whyte poked it with the tip of his boot to be sure, then began walking up the stairs, laughing.

"Nnnnnooooooooo," Smiley moaned out.

"Nnnnnnnoooooooooooo."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! DR. ZAIUS!"

Smiley shoved the wheelchair's wreckage off of him and gently cradled his simian companion. "Dr. Zaius...you were supposed to make me a god..." A single tear ran down Smiley's cheek. "WHYTE!" he called out, enraged.

Whyte turned around. "Hey, you ain't a cripple at all! No fair!"

Smiley seized Whyte by his collar, smashed through the door of the stairwell (knocking Kail out of the way) and shoved Whyte straight through the plate glass window, twenty stories up.

"My name is Remington Smiley. You killed my monkey. Prepare to die." And, after winning over the hearts of Princess Bride nerds everywhere, Smiley released Whyte, who screamed as he plunged to his death.

Kail walked up next to Smiley. "Wow, you just killed the President!"

Smiley nodded.

"And you can walk! It's a miracle!"

Smiley shook his head. "Nah. I was never quadriplegic to begin with. Just lazy."

Kail stared at Smiley, dumbfounded. "...Whatever. Let's check on the girls."

They opened the door to the previous room to discover a bloodbath. Pussy and Irennie had somehow managed to strip down to their underwear, and also get covered almost entirely in blood. The mutilated remains of what were apparently Bambi and Thumper lay in the middle of the room, surrounded by blood-soaked pillows.

"Kail!" Irennie shouted, leaping into his arms.

"Smiley!" Pussy shouted, leaping into his arms.

Both men dropped the girls. "Holy shit, you just got blood over my nice suit!" Kail complained. 


	10. Chapter 10

One Bond chased the other down the stairwell of the Whyte House, all the while the blonde one taunting the brunette one.

"What's the matter, James? No glib comment, no pithy remark?" Bond the younger jeered.

"Here's a glib remark: YOU'RE GAY!" Bond the elder screamed back, taking a pot-shot at the opposing agent.

(Boy, I can't wait to finish this fic, since it means I don't have to write anymore tedious "This is Bond A, this is Bond B" descriptive tags.)

Suddenly, Mr. Wynt and Mr. Kidd burst into the stairwell. "Here's a glib remark, Mr. Kidd," Mr. Wynt said.

"Oh, I love glib remarks, Mr. Wynt," Mr. Kidd cooed.

"You're James Bond!"

Both Bonds looked confused. "Why are you saying 'You're James Bond'?" James asked.

An ersatz look of surprise emerged on Mr. Wynt's face. "Surely you know! Whenever something is stupid or unfortunate, you say, 'That's so James Bond'!"

The two Bonds exchanged a look, then filled Mr. Wynt and Mr. Kidd with lead.

"This has been...brought to you...by the Ad Council..." Mr. Kidd choked out with his last breath.

Bond and Bond, grinning with self-satisfaction, turned and realized that their foe was standing right there. They both pointed their Walthers at the other, but didn't pull the trigger.

"You're empty," Blonde Bond pointed out.

"So're you," Brunette Bond rejoined.

The blue-eyed wonder cracked his neck and entered a traditional fighting stance.

Bond classic, however, started waving his arms up and down, shouting "Hi-yaaah!" over and over again.

"What...the bloody hell are you doing?" Blonde Bond asked.

"Uh...kung-fu-rate?" James said.

"Oh, bugger this," Bad Bond said, and proceeded to grab Bond by his nose.

"OW! By DOSE!" James protested.

The villain of this piece pulled James by his nose into the wall behind him, punching him in the back several times for good measure. James propelled himself backwards, slamming the other man's back against the other wall. He followed that up with a headbutt, causing blood to pour out the 00 agent's nose, and slammed both elbows into the man's ribs, causing him to cough out in pain.

James turned and began pummeling his opposite number, unleashing all the hatred and frustration that had been building up in him ever since he had lost his beloved Bess the 13th...losing to this genetic construct...London being bombed and occupied...and then, the death of Mason, the very first Bond.

Finally, blood running freely down his face, the younger Bond looked up, panting, and asked, "Is that the best you can do?" He started laughing. "I mean it, was that the very best you could come up with? I'm pretty sure my mother hits harder than you do!" At that, he suddenly got a distant look in his eye, as he recalled his horrifying years of abuse at the hands of his parents. He shook himself out of it, though. "Do you have any last words before I proceed to beat you to death?"

James thought very carefully. Finally, he came up with a solution: "I challenge you to a hand of bacarrat --"

"Don't know that game."

James stared at the other Bond, dumbfounded. "You don't know bacarrat?"

"Nope. Don't want to, either."

The look on James' face was somewhere between disgust and horror. "How...HOW can you call yourself JAMES BOND and not know how to play BACARRAT?!"

"It's easy: Bacarrat is for fags."

The ghosts of Mr. Wynt and Mr. Kidd walked through the wall. Before they could speak, however, Blonde Bond expended no effort to kill the ghosts, sending them to Double Hell.

"Oh really. If bacarrat is for persons of the homosexual persuasion, what do you play?"

"Poker."

"Poker? FUCKING POKER? Why don't you just become an AMERICAN CITIZEN?" James screeched.

The fiend smirked. "I might just do that."

"Fine, then. I challenge you to a single hand of POKER, which I'll kick your ASS AT."

Bond bowed. "I accept."

XXXX

The two Bonds sat opposite each other, at the high-stakes table in the Whyte House's casino. The rest of the Krew, apprehensive, looked on. (Kail and Smiley were still using wet-wipes to clean off the blood the girls had smeared all over their clothes).

"Gentlemen, there will be one hand of poker, with the stakes being the fate of the world. No buy-ins, ante ups, or other poker lingo that makes you sound fancy," the dealer said, then dealt five cards to each of the Bonds.

The good James examined his hand. He had a ten, jack, queen, king, and ace of spades. He nervously peered over at the Blonde Bond and wondered what kind of hand he had. He wasn't even sure this hand was good. In fact, every second he grew more and more nervous. Soon, he was near hyperventilating, and the other Bond was chuckling into his cards.

"Cards, gentlemen?" the dealer asked.

"Two," Blonde Bond said, removing two cards from his hand and taking two more from the dealer.

"...TWENTY!" James declared, slapping his hand down on the table.

"...Sir, you may only take five cards," the dealer explained.

"...Oh. Well, then five." James looked at his new cards. A two of hearts, a four of clubs, a six of spades, an eight of diamonds, and a ten of smiley faces.

...Wait, smiley faces? Weren't there only four suits in a deck of cards? James shrugged and figured it was an American thing.

"Lay your cards down, gentlemen," the dealer instructed. 007 laid down a five, six, seven, eight, and nine of hearts. "Flush," the dealer called. "Mr. Bond? Your hand?"

Bond triumphantly laid down his hand, except for the two. "Uno!" he declared.

Impatient, the dealer plucked the remaining card out of James' hand and laid it onto the table. "Mr. Bond wins."

James jumped up, cheering. "I won! I won! I won!"

"No, the other Bond. The man with blonde hair," the dealer explained.

"...Oh." James grew very sad.

The Krew looked on in shock. James...had lost?! The world was doomed?!

007, victorious, strode up to James. "No hard feelings, chap," he said, extending his hand. "Better luck next time, eh? Oh wait, except there won't be a next time since I'm going to kill you now. Any last words?"

James nodded. "Die," he said, and shot a sword out of his mouth that impaled the other Bond through his chest.

The Blonde Bond looked down at the sword now skewering him, and looked up at his nemesis. "Not...bad..." he said, and sank to his knees.

James grabbed the sword by the hilt, twisted it, and then yanked it out, ripping out his foe's intestines in the process.

"You think this ends here?" the young Bond rasped. "It doesn't!"

"It does for you," James said coldly, and with one swipe parted 007's head from his shoulders.

The impostor Bond was dead. Long live James Bond.

"...Did you guys just fucking see that?" Smiley asked increduously.

"That BASTARD stole that from MY FIC!" Kail yelled.

Pussy and Irennie were making googly-eyes at the sole remaining Bond, though. "I dunno," Irennie said. "A man who can take a two-foot long blade down his throat...has possibilities," she winked.

XXXX

M looked wistfully out the window of her new office, in the newly-constructed headquarters of MI-6. After the rogue Bond had been slain, the world's governments had quickly come to its senses and signed peace treaties with the United Kingdom, sending billions in aid to those who had died or lost property. She was kept up all hours of the night by all the damned construction, though.

Bond was debriefing her on the final showdown at the Whyte House. She wasn't paying very much attention, though; she didn't even notice when James went off into a five-minute tangent on how he hoped the other Bond suffered in hell forever for not liking bacarrat.

M interrupted him. "Bond...just before Mason died, did he say anything?"

"Well, he said something about his son George, and gave his regards to Pussy Jr. and Irennie."

"Anything...else?" M prompted.

James thought a moment. "Ah! He said he wanted to pass a message along to Pussy Senior. Something about he loved...he never got a chance to say WHAT he loved, actually." James rubbed his chin. "Pie. He probably said he loved pie. Because who doesn't?" James frowned. "Why would he want Pussy Senior to know that he loved pie, though? I guess we'll never know." James stood up and left M with her thoughts.

She stared out of the window again, watching the River Thames flow gently past, watching the rebuilding of Big Ben and Parliament.

She finally turned away, and moved a wall-mounted painting to reveal a safe underneath. Keying in the code, she opened it and removed a pink card from inside, a little dry with age.

On it was a heart with a face. Surrounding it were the words "I raped you...into loving me, valentine!"

M turned the card around. On the other side, it read, "To my favorite leshbian turned shex partner: I love you (inashmuch ash I love any woman). Shigned, Jamesh Bond."

Tears began to roll down M's cheeks. "I love you too, James."

Her phone began to ring, and she wiped her tears as she answered it. "Hello? Yes, Bond took him out, just as you suggested. It wasn't easy, though...and we'll be coming after you now. You ARE responsible for all terrorism in the world, you know." M hung up.

Moneypenny poked her head in the door. "The ceremony will be starting soon!"

XXXX

A crowd of tens of thousands were gathered at Buckingham Palace to watch the knighting ceremony. Everybody in the Krew was to be knighted for their effort in saving the world from the menace of Blofeld, Whyte, and Bond.

Just moments before the ceremony was to begin, however, M noticed two people missing from the lineup. "James, where in the name of Jesus Tittyfucking Christ are Smiley and Pussy?" she asked Bond.

"Hmm...I dunno, M. I think I overheard him saying something about having to puck fussy. I don't know what he was talking about, really."

M stared at Bond coldly for a minute. "Forget it, they can miss their knighting!" she declared.

"Everybody, please rise for the national anthem!" the master of ceremonies declared.

The Spice Girls came out on stage, wearing Union Jack-design dresses. "GIRL POWAH!" they shouted in unison, causing the massive crowd to cheer.

Before they could start singing, however, Posh Spice tripped and broke into a thousand pieces, sending the microphone hurtling under the stage.

As the remaining Spice Girls began hunting for superglue to glue Posh back together, the speakers broadcasting live around the world began to emit words.

"Oh yes, Remington Smiley! I, Pussy Galore Junior, am rather thoroughly enjoying this, the act of coitus, of which we are heartily engaged in under this stage in front of Buckingham Palace!" Pussy screamed.

"I thought Christmas only came once a year," Smiley replied.

"Oh, Smiley! Take me around the world one more time?"

"Those bastards are stealing my bit!" James shouted. "The bit where I go fuck a hot woman at the end of my adventure, just to embarrass M in front of the international community!"

"Oh shut up, James," Kail scolded. "Next time, get a girl before they're all snatched up." He proceeded to smack Irennie's ass, to which she slapped his ass twice as hard. They began slapping each other's ass as hard as possible before M stopped them.

"I'm putting a stop to this shit right now," she declared, crawling under the stage and dragging Smiley and Pussy out by their ears. They barely managed to grab pieces of Posh large enough to hide their strategic bits before being hauled back into the lineup with the rest of the Krew.

"And now, Her Majesty, Queen of the United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, and the other Commonwealth realms, and owner of every swan in England, please, give it up for Queen! Elizabeth! Maguire!" announced the MC.

"Like, hi, everybody!" the sixteen year old girl called. "So, today we're, like, here to commemo-- commemo-- do that one thing where we give medals to people who kicked some ass! Yeah! And today I'm honoring a bunch of people from our secret spy agency, MI-6!"

She approached James first. "James Bond, for dedication, loyalty, and all that other shit that makes you sound important, I hereby make you a knight of England, and restore your status as 007. Woohoo!" She tapped each side of his head with the sword James had fired out of its mouth.

James felt the sides of his head. "Eww, it's still covered in blood and shit from when I stabbed the other Bond in the intestines," he said, making a face.

The queen moved on to Kail. "John Kail. You rose from being a smelly drunk, to taking down Blofeld -- which wasn't hard, I mean, come on, the guy was in a wheelchair! People in wheelchairs are, like, dumb." A few people down the line, Smiley growled angrily. "But anyway, I guess you deserve this crap. I hereby grant you knighthood, and restore you to 008 status. Kick ass!" She tapped the blood-and-shit-covered sword on Kail's head.

Irennie was next. "Irennie Galore. You, an American, mended the ugly rift existing between our countries since we burned down the White House and stuff during...uh...World War One, or whatver. But since you helped save us, I guess that means you can kick shit with us for now. So I totally knight you and I give you...hm, the rank of 002 in MI-6."

"Does this mean I can legally kill people?!" Irennie asked excitedly.

"Shit yeah!" The Queen answered, and the two girls high-fived.

Next up was Smiley. "Oh awesome, this dude is naked!" the Queen announced, for those who hadn't noticed yet. "So, you're the ex-cripple who murdered the President of the United States. I can only bestow upon you the greatest honor this nation can bestow upon somebody: I hereby change your name to Churchill Smiley. Oh, and you're 009 now, or some shit."

A tear rolled down Smiley's cheek. "Truly, this is the greatest moment in the history of my life. Well, except for that time five minutes ago, when I was penetrating Pussy."

Finally, the Queen reached Pussy. "Pussy, I said much the same shit to your sister. Blah blah blah knighthood 003 status alright, where's the fucking party now?" The assembled crowds cheered as their head of state flipped them the bird and left without saying goodbye.

The Krew looked around, wondering what to do now. M began to speak. "Agents, England needs you to kick some more ass. Are you up to the task?"

They looked amongst one another. "We shall be your divine instrument of destruction," Bond offered.

M smirked. "Very well, then. I want you to investigate a factory in Tierra Del Fuego..."

XXXX

(As the credits roll, You Only Live Twice plays)

BOND VS. BLONDE

STARRING

Pierce Brosnan as James Bond Daniel Craig as James Bond Sean Connery as John Mason Shia LaBeouf as John Kail Zac Efron as Remington Smiley Kirsten Dunst as Irennie Galore Natalie Portman as Pussy Galore Jr.  
Judi Dench as M Desmond Llewelyn as Q Samantha Bond as Miss Moneypenny Donald Pleasance as Ernst Stavro Blofeld Jimmy Dean as Willard Whyte Hillary Duff as Queen Elizabeth Maguire

XXXX

Meanwhile, in Japan...

XXXX

Several sublevels below the ruins of Blofeld's old volcano base, a computer screen switched on and began displaying words:

ERNST BLOFELD -- DECEASED WILLARD WHYTE -- DECEASED JAMES BOND 1ST ED. -- DECEASED

INITIATING SECONDARY MEASURES

The screen turned off again.

Immediately, a nearby transparent cylinder -- filled with murky fluid which suspended a dark form -- opened up, spilling the liquid inside everywhere.

The form inside drew breath for the first time in its life and stood up.

James Bond ran a hand through his blonde hair and smiled. "It's all happening exactly as before," he remarked.

"Well, not exactly," James Bond pointed out.

The two James Bonds smiled as more of the room lit up, revealing row after row of the cylinders, each one holding a dark form...

XXXXXXXXXX

JAMES BOND WILL RETURN 


End file.
